


Remember, Remember

by debby_rizzo



Category: The X-Files
Genre: A woman's journey, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, FTF Canon Divergence, Fluff, Focus on MSR, Kinda, MSR, Movie: The X-Files: Fight the Future (1998), Mulder takes care of her, No Cancer, No Character Death, Overcoming Obstacles, RST, Romance, UST, and other characters - Freeform, sick scully, very light mythology
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2020-10-30 02:47:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20807246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/debby_rizzo/pseuds/debby_rizzo
Summary: This is my take on "What if the bee had not stung Scully in the Hallway Scene?" In Fight the Future.*I believe Chapter 4 is the one which gives a better perspective of where the story is going. (If the tags haven't done that yet)*





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I want to thank Agentelmo, handsofabitterman, and Mldrgrl for their help in the early stages. Tossing ideas around with them made me come with a certain structure to this project. This first chapter has been betaed by dksculder, enigmaticdrscully, and settledownfrohike. Without their feedback I wouldn't have been able to get this here.
> 
> I also want to thank Vicky (frangipanidownunder) for her writing workshops that have helped me become a more confident fanfic writer.
> 
> This is my very FIRST fanfic, English is not my native language and feedback is much appreciated. Without any further ado, here is the story.

**Chapter 1**

I go for a run. I run like my life depends on it. Which I find ironic in a way, as I’m a fox myself. At least that’s what my parents have thought to name me. Different from my animal counterpart, though, at this moment I feel more like a prey than a hunter. I run away from this morning’s events, trying to erase the frustration and anger with sore muscles and the release of endorphins. That should make me feel better. At least that’s what I had hoped for when I had set my foot out of the door, right before dawn, with the air still chilled.

I pass by silhouettes of trees and hedges; not a soul is out in the park. The streetlamps show me where the track ends and the green grass starts. I follow the concrete path. My nostrils smell dew and the loamy scent of the Tidal Basin on my right. The Washington Monument is on this side too. All lit up, a white phallus among the darkness, putting on pretentious display all American masculinity. Even in architecture we, men, show that our dicks need to rule everything, seeking power and a release of oxytocin to their owners.

A flood of oxytocin should have made me better as well. Or so they say. It had made me feel good, actually. So good, so relaxed that I fell asleep; it was the moment I opened my eyes that everything went downhill.

But what would I know about hormones anyway?

She, on the other hand, would know. The perks of being an MD. Her bedside manners need some work, though. That I can say. I bet that’s why she chose to be a pathologist. And coming to think of it, that is also probably why she had been single for almost all the time I have met her.

If I am a fox, she is, apparently, a praying mantis.

But it was my mistake. Five years working with a person. Five years of a partnership based on trust and repressed feelings were thrown down the toilet. I should have never kissed her in that hallway. And why did she have to choose that moment to let down a guard that has been up and successful for so many years? She should have slapped me in the face, that’s what she should have done. I would have deserved it.

The first rays of sunlight have started to warm up this summer morning and I’m still thinking of her. I guess it’s not time to turn back to the car and drive home yet. The cool breeze on my face is a good contrast to the warmth my tracksuit provides me, as I feel the drops of sweat running down my body. It’s a pleasant sensation. It makes me focus on the moment I’m living and not in the past.

The sunlight bathes my surroundings and the day has warmed up as I approach The Jefferson Memorial. A few joggers run by and the city is starting to wake up. I think it’s time to finally go back home.

  
  
  


As I leave the shower and head to my bedroom, the remnants of last night’s developments assault my senses. I take a deep breath and close my eyes. The room smells like her and I swear I can hear again the soft moaning coming from her mouth when my tongue drew number eights on her neck. My blood runs south and stirs my dick. I sigh. My body tenses and I yank the sheets out of the bed to throw them in the hamper with force. The sunlight passes between the slats of the blinds, bathing a piece of the floor. It makes a kind of patterned spotlight to my yesterday’s outfit. My stomach clutch with the sight. I grab my gray T-shirt from the floor, ball them up in my hands with clenched teeth and toss them in the laundry basket.

When I’m back to putting away clothes, something else calls my attention and I stop mid-stride. Giving it further inspection, I notice it’s a smashed bee. My heart races and I feel ultra-awake by adrenaline. I run and search frantically all over the place for a container to put the insect.

Once it is secured tight inside a small transparent pot I grab my cell phone and press speed dial one: Miss bedside manners.

Before I even hear the first ring, my heart races and I fumble with the phone to press the end call button. I throw it on the couch in a huff and I groan. I start to pace the living room, rubbing my temples as I try to think of who could help me out with that insect. Yes, I know that I will need an entomologist, but I have a hunch that this bee is no ordinary honey-maker. And only a pair of eyes, who have seen the virus through the microscope before, could back me up, complete and enrich my theory.

I groan again.

I guess that’s what phantom limb syndrome feels like.

  
  
  


I arrive at the Lone Gunmen’s office and I am greeted by Frohike, who opens the door and starts to look behind me as if my presence alone was not enough for him.

“Where is the delectable Agent Scully?”

“I dare you to call her that on her face. She will kick your ass.” and then I remember. “Though that will be a little difficult since she is moving to Salt Lake City.”

“Salt Lake City?! What the heck did you do to her, man?” he barks, his face betraying indignation. He closes the door and I get inside. I try to deny my involvement in her departure – even though deep down, I’m guilty as charged – but I am interrupted by Langly and Byers. They have stopped their nerdy business and are now gathered around me and Frohike. The latter informs the others of the latest development.

“What did you do to Scully, dude?” blondie asks me.

I don’t know if it’s Frohike’s indignation or Langly’s astonished tone that does the trick, but I snap.

“Why do you all think I have done something to her?!”

“Easy, dude, we just want to understand what happened. But you were always ditching her, so we assume things.” says Langly.

“And you have a tendency to sleep with your female partners” Frohike points out.

“That happened only once.” I say, unable to look them in the eyes.

“Yeah, with the only female partner you have had before.” Shortie patronizes me.

“She and Diana are completely different people. Besides I’ve sworn that I would not let my dick get in the way again.” Yeah. Congratulations to me.

“Well, agent Scully is very hot. It would be understandable if you had not been able to resist temptation…”

“Can we, please, stop talking about her?!” I admonish and interrupt Frohike’s rant. “The FBI transferred her after all that Dallas fiasco. And that’s why I’m here.” I take a deep calming breath. “I need your help. They are trying to blame us for what happened and all I have had before were theories, but no substantial proof. Until…” I get the vial with the bee from my pocket and show them. “...I found this in my apartment.”

I share with them everything that Kurtzweil had told me. I tell them all the things I have seen in the last days: the cornfield, the white domes, the bees.

“If this bee is carrying the alien virus, as I suspect it is, it changes everything. It will prove that there is a real threat to people out there. And the X Files is the only division in the FBI that can handle these kinds of investigation. They will need to reopen the unit. And they will not be able to make a scapegoat of me.”

“And maybe Agent Scully can come back to Washington.” Frohike says.

“That is not up to me. She had her options before and she has made her choice.” I sigh. “And I think I already said I don’t want to talk about her, right?”

I notice how they look at one another, tension in the air. That’s when Byers, finally, decides to offer his input.

“So you’ll need an apiologist or an entomologist who we can trust to look at this bee. Someone who can catalog the anomalies or find traces of the virus.”

“Yep. And I need it by Monday, at noon.”

“Monday?!” Langly exclaims. “Dude, today is Friday! Do you have any idea how long it takes to run full background checks on people and come up with somebody who is clean? How are we going to do that and then ask them to do the job on such a short notice? And moreover on the weekend?!”

“I know. But that’s when I have an OPR meeting. The FBI forgot to ask me when it’s the most convenient time for me to have my ass kicked.”

“So let’s get to work!” Frohike says and retreats himself along with Langly to their computers. Byers stay put and then approaches me, in a conspiratory voice.

“I know that you don’t want to talk about Agent Scully, but I just wanted to say that I have experience with loving a woman and then have her ripped out of my arms.”

“I’m not in love…”

“You may fool yourself, Mulder, but not me. Anyway, I just wanted to say that if you ever want to talk about it, I can be your man for that. I won’t judge or make fun of you.” He pats my shoulder twice and goes for his computer.

And I stay there, glued to that spot, dumbstruck.

  
  


I leave the Gunmen’s office with the remembrance of the taste of her lips in my tongue. Thank you, Byers! Now all I can think of was how our lips barely had met in that hallway and her tongue was already inciting me, proding for more; how our breaths became heavy and faster; how I pulled Her body closer to mine, and...

...And how I needed to burn that out of my mouth and mind.

So I get in the car and drive all the way to Casey’s Bar, in Southeast Washington. When I get there, though, I don't even leave the car as I remember that blonde bartender. She would be sure to inform me that my ‘lucky number’ was actually three times less than what I really needed.

I go home instead. The bottle of scotch in the liquor cabinet will have to do. All that is left for me is to drown my sorrows into oblivion. And that’s what I do until I have the burning taste of alcohol in my mouth only.

When I regain consciousness, the sun has already set and a loud trill pierces my ears. And my head for that matter. I am sprawled, face down on my couch, a pool of drool coming out of my mouth. I unstuck my cheeks from the leather and the difference in height makes it feel like a sword punctures my brain. Looking for the source of the noise, I realize it’s my cell phone that is making that awful sound.

I get up to my feet, as steady as I can under the circumstance, and answer the device. I am greeted by a female voice who calls me ‘Fox’. And the way she says my name –in such a soft, caring voice that doesn’t make me flinch– tells me that it can only be one person.

“Mrs. Scully?”

“Yes, that’s me. Have you seen Dana?”

“I last saw her early this morning. Has something happened?”

“We were supposed to have dinner at 7 p.m, but she neither showed up or called.”

I check the time and the VCR clock tells me it’s 9 p.m. “Have you tried her cell phone?”

“Yes, and her home number as well, but she is not answering either. This is not like her.” her voice became brittle. “I was wondering if you guys had had a last minute trip that she had forgotten to tell me or some other work-related issue had come up. I just… I just have a bad feeling about it all.”

Me too, Mrs. Scully. Me too. I feel the bottom of my stomach chill and sink.

I end the call and dial the Lone Gunmen. When one of them answers the phone I don’t even bother to listen who is on the other side and start barking orders.

“Stop everything you are doing right now. I need your help again. Scully is missing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was born from my great interest in the human brain. It was 2016. I was reading an article on neuroscience research and the idea popped up. For two years scenes started to come to my head and I thought that they were interesting. But that's all they were: random scenes born from some 'What if?' questions. In 2018, I decided to create a plot for it, or at least something as close to it as my ADHD brain has allowed and I was hoping to have all completed before I posted it. But that doesn't seem to be helping to make the idea come out of my brain and get written and organized. So I'm changing my game plan and posting it now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since Mulder is color blind in one episode only, I'm choosing to ignore this tidbit of information. Now he can appreciate Scully's gorgeous red hair. You're welcome, Mulder.
> 
> This chapter has been checked by Hemingway Editor and Grammarly. No Betas were ‘harmed’ in the making of this installment. 
> 
> A big thank you to @mulderwantstobelieve, @frangipanidownunder, @greycoupons, @if-the-seascatchfire, and @baronessblixen for coming to the rescue when the English language got me and bit me in the butt. I hope there are no other bites left unnoticed by my Portuguese-native-speaker brain.
> 
> As always, feedback is much appreciated and cherished. It feeds the muse.

** Chapter 2**

I drive my car as fast as I can to Scully’s place, hoping that no officer tries to stop me for speeding. The last thing I need right now is to waste time being pulled over and having to flash my badge. The streetlamps wash over me, wave after wave of dark and light. Buildings and a few vehicles buzz by me in a blur, as I change lanes and outpace slower drivers.

A chill runs down my spine as I wonder what I might find when I get to her place. Will I find her blood smeared on a piece of furniture along with some of her red hair again? Will this be the time I will find her lifeless body lying on the floor?

I halt at a red light, tires screeching. Fingers drum the steering wheel and I move my head from side to side to look at the intersection. I ease the car forward, inch by inch, and take advantage of the lighter flow of cars to run the red light.

A black sedan behind me does the same trick.

I keep looking at the rearview mirror and the road ahead of me alternately. The car is there. It is always there on my tail. My hands sweat.

As I enter George Washington Memorial Parkway, darkness surrounds me and I can only count on my headlights to show me the way. Fewer cars can be seen on the road, so I press the gas pedal further.

The black sedan behind me does the same thing.

I try to think of a way to mislead my pursuer, but all my ideas will slow me down and that I can not allow. I just keep driving and, even though the AC is on, the sweat drips down my body. One of my hands searches my hip holster to feel the cold of my gun. A sigh escapes my nose and I return the hand to the wheel again.

After a few miles, I use the left lane to merge to Washington Boulevard, and the black sedan follows suit. My heart races faster, the mouth gets dry and I have to wipe the sweat out of my forehead. I grip the steering wheel as I keep driving around the Memorial Circle, instead of taking the right to the Arlington Memorial Bridge. The sedan, this time, continues onto Memorial Avenue making me release a deep breath and regain the circulation on my fingers.

One more turn in the roundabout and I proceed to the original route, grieving those precious minutes lost to my paranoia. The Potomac River flows under me through the stone-arch bridge in an almost mockery. On both sides of the road, tall streetlights run by me. They lead me to Valor and Sacrifice, but The Arts of War are soon left behind in a blur of bronze.

I pass by the Lincoln Memorial, hoping to be a savior as well, but to the reunion of Scully and her mother. The reunion of Scully to her future. I must save her one more time and balance out the endangerer plate on this scale of my role in our former alliance. 

I finally reach the short buildings of Georgetown. My cell phone goes off and I fumble to answer it without losing control of the car.

“Mulder, where are you?” Asks Langly on the other end of the line.

“I’m getting to Scully’s place.”

“Don't bother. Come to our office.”

“I need to check if she is all right! Or at least if there is evidence that can help me find her!”

“She's never made it home, Mulder. We’ve got something to show you. Come quick.”

My cell phone falls. My hands turn the wheel fully to the left and the car skids to another lane, facing the direction where I came from. Squealing the tires, I drive off towards the Gunmen’s office.

“We managed to hack some CCTV systems and we found footage from a camera near your place. It's from early this morning,” Langly says, as he turns on the computer screen for my inspection. “Take a look”.

I sit on the chair in front of the screen and he presses the play button. In the grainy, black and white image, I recognize Scully crossing the street towards her car. She had parked some blocks away from my building and is now grabbing the car keys from her pockets. A white van halts next to her and a pair of arms tries to grab her from behind. Her elbow pounds the man’s chest. Then her knuckles find his nose. The man falls down to the ground and Scully tries to reach for her gun. A second man leaves the van and encircles her arm and neck in a chokehold, preventing her movements. She kicks his shin. His free hand places a white cloth on her face, making her movements slow down to a sudden stop. The guy on the floor stands up and grabs her feet. They place her torpid body inside the van, then get in the vehicle as it speeds off.

“Where was this van headed?” I ask.

“We’ve lost it after it reached Jefferson Davis Highway.”

The one that leads people to the airport among other places. A cold wave washes over me from head to toe as I realize that by now she could be in Timbuktu.

“Were you able to do your technological tricks and identify the plate?” I ask.

They shake their heads with eyes cast downward. I pick up my phone and dial Skinner. I explain the situation and ask for an APB for a vehicle matching the description from the one on the video. I pace the room running my hands on my hair frantically. There has to be something that the Gunmen’s untrained eyes could not catch. That's why I ask them to rewind the footage.

“Mulder, we have watched all these videos over and over while…”

“Rewind the damn footage, please!” I interrupt Frohike.

And they do it. Over and over again. After the fifth try, they teach me how to rewind it myself and leave me alone with the computer. I watch it one more time. Then another. And another. I try to burn it inside my mind. After almost an hour watching those same minutes, my eyes are the ones that seem on fire. I thump the desk, stand up and start to pace the room again. Think, Mulder. Think!

“Mulder, you need to calm down and think straight. You will find her! You always do.” Says Byers.

“It’s different this time!” I grab the clipping from the newspaper I had found this morning by my front door and show them. I had been keeping it in my jeans pocket since then.

“‘Doctor accused of pedophilia found dead’? What does this have anything to do with Scully?” Asks Frohike.

“This is the man who gave me the directions to all the clues in this case. He was murdered because he was feeding me information. Because we got too close to unveiling everything. First, he was discredited and then killed. Now they got Scully! They are targeting everybody who had aided me in exposing them!”

I book myself the next flight to Dallas and rent another car as I arrive there. I thank my eidetic memory as I try to drive the same roads that had taken me and Scully to the domes and the cornfield. The scenery around me looks different, though; the colors are more vivid as the sun is getting high in the sky this time. The air conditioner can barely keep up with the heat from the desert outside.

My eyes burn and I'm not sure if it's from not blinking enough or the dry air around me, but I focus solely on the drive ahead. One more time I reach the intersection at the end of the road. Without a second thought, I drive forward leaving a trail of dust behind me. Finding the train tracks, I follow it down, stop by the same hill and climb it.

As I reach the top, my chest tightens and I shake my head in denial. I can’t believe my eyes. Instead of domes and cornfields, all I see now are flames, burning everything down.

I fall down to my knees and weep.

I fly back to DC. There's just nothing left for me to do. No leads, no double agent informants to point me where to go. Nothing.

My eyes burn even more and now all the muscles in my body complain. That's what almost sixteen hours driving, and seven hours in airplanes can do to you. I drag my sorry, dehydrated ass out of the disembarking area. To my surprise, though, Skinner is waiting for me.

“Where the hell have you been, Mulder?”

I have no energy left, so I just keep walking as if he had never been there. If he follows me or not I don’t notice. And honestly, I don’t care. With every step, a deep breath to try and keep the tears out of my eyes.

My arm is pulled. Skinner is demanding to know of my whereabouts and I see red. I make a lunge at him but am easily subdued by his alertness. He drags me out of the airport and into his car. Then everything is black.

“Mulder! Wake up, Mulder! We’re here!”

“Where is here?” I ask without bothering to open my eyes.

“Your place.”

I look out the window and notice night has fallen again. Another lost day. I must be too dry to shed tears, but my blood boils. Time was pivotal in disappearance cases. Didn't he know that?!

“Why did you bring me here?! I need to find her!” I try to leave the car, but Skinner has still to unlock it.

“You are not going anywhere, Mulder!”

“They took Scully because I got too close to the truth. I need to find her, damn it! She is danger!” I jingle the lock to the door to no avail. “Unlock the fucking door!" I shout.

“Mulder, listen to me!” Skinner barks and that stops me in my tracks. “You’re not going anywhere! You are _not_ thinking straight. You’re just committing amateur errors and putting yourself in danger.” He sighs and softens his voice “You are not doing Scully any favors with such behavior. Get some rest and let the FBI handle this.”

“One more thing.” Skinner adds “Why did Scully come to your place around 8:20 p.m and only left in the early hours of the following morning?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“It is if you are breaking the FBI's fraternization policy.”

“We are not.” No lie in that statement, as she was not my partner anymore. “What does it matter anyway, she’s moving to Salt Lake City.”

“Listen, we will find her. Get some rest and get ready for your OPR session tomorrow. I know the timing is the worst, but there’s nothing we can do about it. And it's your job at stake here.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“You saved my ass once. I owe you one and this is the least I can do. Good night, Mulder.”

The lock clicks and I am out of the car. Skinner drives away as I get upstairs and pass out on my couch once again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for taking so long to update this story. I had felt disconnected from it for a while. The creative juices seem to be coming back now with lockdown. On the other hand, I'm dealing with working from home, and I started another graduation course through distance learning, so I'm not sure how much I'll be able to work on this piece. Keep your fingers crossed for me!
> 
> Thank you peacenik0 (Tumblr) for coming to the rescue with some vocabulary doubt I had way back when I started writing this chapter. By the way guys, I'm still looking for a beta reader. Anyone interested?

**Chapter 3**

Someone is banging at the door.

And calling my name.

I try to say that I’m coming, but my tongue feels like sandpaper inside my mouth. Soft sunlight invades my living room window, announcing that Monday morning has arrived. I cringe. I had fallen asleep on my couch yet one more time. As I rise to my feet, everything spins around. My head hurts, my lips are cracked, and my knees feel like they are going to buckle at any moment. Still, I manage to stagger to the front door and unlock it. I don’t even bother to open it or to see who was on the other side; I just drag myself to the kitchen, fill a cup with water and then gulp the liquid down.

I sense someone following me and hear Byers’ voice asking where I've been. Apparently, the Gunmen had been trying to check in on me. I just refill my cup and chug the water down. He asks if I'm alright and, as I turn to look at him, he informs me that I look like hell. Not with those words, but I know that's what he meant. I just wave to dismiss his concern.

He extends a manila envelope towards me to which I just mumble a curt ‘whatisit?'.

“The report on that bee. We managed to find an entomolog…”

“I told you dorks to stop and focus on finding Scully!” I scream.

Byers' eyes bulge and his mouth falls open for a beat. “I-I can assure you that Langly and Frohike have been working on it since then, even though there are no new leads. But they are in front of those computers trying everything they can tirelessly."

“A van can't just disappear into thin air, Byers!”

“No, it can't. But people haven't gone fully Big Brother yet, so there are many blind spots around the city.” He sighs “I know she means a lot to you… she means a lot to us as well, but this is very important too.” He wavers the envelope. “By the way, you were right about that bee. It's all there on the report.”

“I must find Scully!” I bark.

“Have you found any new leads?”

I just shake my head as I stare at the floor. My eyes sting as if I am going to cry, but no tears make an appearance. I refill my glass and drink more water.

“You can _ not _ give up on this one; you can _ not _ let them shut you out after all these years. You and the X Files are the only ones that can expose this conspiracy. And you have the chance to do so today at your OPR meeting. You said it yourself: there is a real threat to people out there and now you finally have in your hands concrete proof of that. Let us handle Scully’s investigation for the moment and try to find new leads. You focus on trying to save what's left of the X Files… and maybe the world.”

**   
  
  
  
**

I arrive at the Hoover Building a little late for my meeting, clutching the envelope and the bee as close to my body as I can without damaging anything. I run through the busy hallways and climb up the stairs because waiting for the elevator seems futile. The sooner I start this, the sooner I'm free to get back to finding Scully.

I don't need to look for the right place because Skinner is pacing the hallway and approaches one of the doors as he makes eye contact with me. He disappears, getting inside the room and I follow suit.

The place is spacious. Too spacious actually. It reminds me of old temples' architecture, which helps you feel the grandiose presence of God as opposed to your mere insignificance. Big windows with vertical drapes dim the place and soft shadows fall on the small table at the center meant for me; a lonely chair against them all: Skinner and four other people, sitting at the board in front of it and behind them, two people writing minutes. Indirect lights from the ceiling bring an almost glow of sanctity to all their silhouettes.

“Nice of you to finally join us, Agent Mulder.” Says AD Jana Cassidy as I ensconce myself in the chair. “In light of what has happened in Dallas, we are here today to hear your side of the story. We are aware of the delicate circumstances regarding Agent Scully’s disappearance, but the DA is adamant that we conclude this investigation as soon as possible to place responsibility for the catastrophic destruction of public property and loss of five lives due to terrorist activities.”

I shake my head and scoff at her last words.

"Have I said something amusing to you, Agent Mulder?"

"Oh, yes! I find everything very amusing! If this was an act of terrorism, like you said it yourself, the terrorists are the ones that should be hunted down and get the blame. Not those who managed to evacuate the building and save hundreds of lives."

"The fact, Agent Mulder, was that you and Agent Scully disobeyed the orders that you had received from your superior and you neglected to follow protocol at the attempt to disarm the bomb."

"The Special Agent in Charge, Darius Michaud, ordered us to leave him alone with the bomb."

"So this order you follow?"

“I just followed my gut, just like when I went to the wrong building. Thankfully, otherwise I would have been swept under the rug by Uncle Sam as well."

"What exactly are you implying, Agent Mulder?"

"I’m pretty sure that Agent Scully has covered everything regarding this.

“As I mentioned previously, we would like to hear _ your _ side of the story.”

What a waste of time, I think to myself. I let an audible sigh and roll my eyes. "The bomb was no act of terrorism. They were trying to bury evidence, to cover up a massive conspiracy against the public. The firemen and the kid were already dead before the bomb exploded. They were infected with an alien pathogen that turned their skin and organs into jello. I'm sure Agent Scully must have covered this part in her testimony, as she had the chance to examine one of the bodies that were hidden in the Bethesda Naval Hospital. According to an agent at the Dallas Field Office, the bodies were brought from an alleged archeological excavation that produced human fossils with traces of the same kind of infection. Maybe that's what infected the kid and the firemen; they must have come into contact with this alien virus."

"Yes, we've already heard it all from Agent Scully. And I'm going to tell you what I told her: these are very serious allegations, that are based solely on the personal experiences of two insubordinate agents, without concrete evidence or proof."

I walk over to the board and place the vial containing the bee on the desk, right under A.D. Cassidy’s nose. "Here is your proof."

I tell the board how Scully and I managed to follow phantom tanker trucks in the middle of the desert and how they led us to corn crops and white domes filled with bees.

“This bee was found dead in my apartment. It probably got stuck… somewhere in my clothes maybe... and thankfully did not sting anybody because this is a genetically altered bee. It carries a virus that according to…” I fumble with the report in my hands. “...Professor Amar Khan, has never been observed on this planet.”

“Who is Professor Amar Khan?”

“The entomologist I asked to take a look at that bee.” I continue “Agent Scully and I got really close to these people's stratagems. That's why she is missing right now!”

“These are very serious allegations, Agent Mulder. You seem to have proof to some points; that I can not deny. But others are just speculation. We can’t…”

A cell phone rings. My cell phone. Scully! I stand up and fumble with my pockets.

“Agent Mulder, you can not answer your phone right now. Sit down!”

But I'm already out the door, and hearing Langly's voice “We found her! She was admitted to the Northeast Georgetown Medical Center. They have contacted Mrs. Scully already.”

“I’m on my way.”

And I'm out of the Hoover Building as fast as lightning.

**   
  
  
  
**

About 20 minutes later, I arrive at the Hospital, flash my badge at the reception and demand to be directed to where Scully is.

As I hush through the white hallways, her words from that night haunt me and I slow down. Maybe the distance will be a good thing for us, she had said as she was leaving my bedroom, with eyes downcast.

Distance.

I stop in my tracks, pulse racing and out of breath. I even turn around to leave, but the necessity to see her wins me over. Thankfully, there's a glass window on the door to her hospital room, so I peep.

She's awake. Her mother is there as well and they are hugging each other. Everything is fine with the world and I can breathe again. I can turn around and move on with my life.

I still don't understand why she decided to be away from me, in Salt Lake City, especially after that night. It hurts. But one thing I know for certain: she'll be better off without me.

Back in my car, my cell phone, left on the passenger's seat, rings insistently.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Who is this?” I ask.

“You just walked away from your OPR session!” Yeah, Skinner. “AD Cassidy is furious and I had to spend the last half hour trying to save your ass. Why I do not know! I should have let them kick your ass out of the Bureau…”

“Scully has been found, sir.”

That stops him on his track for a moment and I give him more details of what I know. He informs me that he will send agents to interview Scully and give continuity to the investigation of her disappearance. A matter of formality, just to act by the book, because deep down we both know that the people responsible for her disappearance will never be found and brought to justice. As always. He also orders me to come back to the Hoover Building and finish my OPR session.

“I’ve got nothing else to add." I tell Skinner. "I’ve rested my case.”

“Be there if you’re still interested in the X Files or in your career in the FBI, that’s all I have to say to you right now.” and hangs up the phone.

I start the car and head back to the Hoover Building because I wouldn’t know what to do with myself without the X Files as well. Scully is lost to me already. And if, apparently, I still have some chance with the X Files that’s what I’m going to grab a hold onto.

**   
  
  
  
**

As expected I have the greatest ass chewing on the Hoover Building. But what's new about that? It is certainly not the first time it's happened nor the second. And I'm sure it will not be the last.

The board was unanimous in believing that the evidence presented required further investigation and because of the nature of the accusations, the X Files should be reopened and have its documents restored. Skinner will be in charge of that process while they appoint somebody to work down in the basement. Yep, somebody else will be in charge of the X Files. And I… well, they don't know what to do with me and my insubordination, so I get a slap on the wrist until they decide if I'll ever get back to the X Files: 6 weeks on leave without pay.

I guess that's what leads me here, knocking at her door.

A strange woman dressed in scrubs answers it and, for a moment, I think I might have come to the wrong door.

“You've got the right place" the woman assures me. "I'm Keysha Jones, the nurse appointed to aid in Ms. Fowley's recovery. Come in and have a seat, she'll be here soon.”

A couple of steps lead me to a green couch, where I sit at and have a privileged view from the whole living room. I don’t know what I expected from her place to exude, but it was certainly not this stern feeling that comes from the dark wooden furniture, dark green walls, and white casing everywhere. There are many pieces of art on the walls, but no picture frames with photos of vacation or family. Everything is as personal as a catalogue from Pottery Barn. On my left there’s a double french door with curtains, probably her bedroom, and right next to it a desk with books on top. I scan through the stack. Among several parapsychology books some call my attention: _Native American Beliefs and Practices, Western Europe Travel Guide, Tunisia Travel Guide._ It’s the latter that most intrigues me. I reach to pick it up for further inspection, but the chance is gone when I see a silhouette through the glass and curtains on the door.

“Fox! I’m so glad you called and stopped by. You're a sight for sore eyes.” She motions for me to sit down on the couch, while she sits on an armchair across from me.

“How are you doing, Diana? You look great for somebody who almost died.”

“It's been over a month, so I'm recovering. I have to do some breathing exercises every hour or so, but it seems to make my doctor happy. I'll be able to go back to work next week. Desk duty, for a month or so.”

“Ouch!”

“Yeah! Never get shot in the lungs, Fox.”

“Duly noted! Listen, has the FBI offered something to you already?”

“Not yet.”

“How do you feel about some desk work on the X Files?”

“I thought there was no vacancy in the basement.”

I bring her up to speed on the latest developments.

"I really need somebody I trust to oversee the restoration of the documents. And maybe take over the unit in case I'm not sent down there after those 6 weeks.”

“I'm certainly interested in it. That's one of the reasons why I came back. Let's hope I'll get the chance to advocate for it in my meeting on Thursday. And I do hope you'll be back as well. It will be a pleasure to work with you again… just like old times.” she adds with a sultry tone.

I swallow hard as I feel blood starting to run South.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought this chapter would never be ready. But here it is. Finally!!!!  
I want to thank spookydarlablack for helping me with a word collocation doubt I had. And a special thank you to my friend Renata for the encouragement to continue with this.

**Chapter 4**

One week had gone by without a job and without her. It's official: I miss Scully more than ever. And surprisingly way more than work.

That has never happened to me before. The quest to discover the Truth and to find Samantha has always been my North. Until now...

Yes, I was devastated in those months she was missing after Duane Barry, but things now are… different. So, lately, days have been basically spent in a loop of ordering pizza, bouncing my basketball around the apartment, sleeping, and doing the five-finger shuffle, while I tried not to think of her.

I was failing miserably, though. She was heroin and I needed a fix. I wonder when the shaking and overproduction of sweat will start.

I crave her teasing tongue. It was her tongue to blame: it ignited everything in that hallway and then some more as we blindingly and breathlessly stumbled back inside my apartment. My eyes crave that moment when we had to break our kiss for the first time as she removed my shirt. And after I left the confinement of that garment I could finally see what my hands already knew; what I only had had the chance to see in Bellefleur, Oregon, five or so years ago. Except that, inside my apartment, on that night, my fingers were allowed to explore the bare valleys, hills and peaks of her body. I was allowed to leave her with a trail of goosebumps, soft hums, and sighs.

All week long she had invaded my dreams, leaving me with sticky underwear in the mornings. And no matter how much I had tried focusing on past lovers, or the women from all those tapes that were not mine, it was always her face that had come to my mind. Always that same moment in which her brows creased in the sweetest agony, while her lips softly vocalized the tremors that took over her body.

The ringing of the phone reminds me that it's also been a week of screening phone calls and many unreturned messages on the answering machine.

The Lone Gunmen wanted me to check something on an internet forum. I even tried to check it out only to find out that I couldn't focus on a word I was reading.

There was also a call from Diana to let me know she had gained access to the X Files; another one to say that she missed me. Not answering this message! If there is something I’ve learned with my experience with that Kristen-vampire-lady is that missing Scully messes with my head. Or heads for that matter. Visiting Diana again, as she suggested with such a sultry voice, I would probably end up on her bed and, in the throes of passion, calling her by the wrong name.

There were also two messages from Mrs. Scully: one asking why I hadn't been around and the second saying that she needed to talk to me. I was certainly not answering that message either. I'm sure I would end up begging for her daughter's new address, flying out to Salt Lake City, and humiliating myself. Scully had been very clear on her wish of distance. I was not going to feed her mother's will to be a matchmaker. Scully is a big girl and can get in touch with me herself when she is ready. 

After the telephone rings insistently, the machine picks up and the caller’s voice echoes through the room.

“Hi, Fox! I'm worried about you… it's not like you to just disappear from Dana's life. Please, give me a call when you hear this message. I-I need to talk to you... Dana _ needs _ you. My phone number is...”

I pick up the phone.

“Hi, Mrs. Scully. I appreciate your concern, but I'm alright. If Dana needs something from me she can ask it herself.

“Fox, please…”

"The ball's in her court, Mrs. Scully, and she knows it.”

"No, she doesn't. She has lost her memory!”

  
  
  
  


Mrs. Scully answers the door promptly. She looks thinner, dark circles under her eyes, but still carries a kind smile as she greets me. She invites me in and offers me something to drink, but I decline, finding myself looking around her place.

"Dana is taking a nap upstairs." She says as if reading my mind. "She… she sleeps a lot these days.” A sad smile appears on her face and an uncomfortable silence befall us.

The room we are in is wide enough to have a nice family gathering but still, manages to keep everybody cozy and warm. Just like a mother’s heart. But that doesn't seem to calm the butterflies in my stomach. Mrs. Scully shows me the couch, while she sits in an armchair opposite from me, guarding both my exit from the place and the access to her daughter.

“I thought she was fine… in Salt Lake City, by now…” I start.

“Salt Lake City?!”

“Oh! Uh… she had been transferred to the FBI's branch in Utah.” 

“She'd never mentioned that to me.”

“She was informed of it right before she disappeared. I guess she didn’t have the time… What do the doctors say?”

“They are at a loss." She sighs. "They have run innumerous tests on her and everything came back normal. Apparently, there’s nothing wrong with her, other than the inability to remember things. Nothing wrong! Nobody can pinpoint exactly why she is like that or what might have caused it; if it’s either permanent or temporary and, because of that, they don’t know how to treat it.”

“Have they checked her for puncture marks? Especially on her head, temples?”

“Yes. They found nothing. There were no traces of any drugs in her system either.”

“What about psychological trauma?” I ask.

“They have ruled it out. Something about her… her… the part of her memory that storages the knowledge about the world around us…”

"Semantic memory." With Mrs. Scully's nod, I continue. “Trauma patients usually have no problem with semantic memory." Oh, no! My blood runs cold. I avert my eyes to the floor and close them as realization sinks in. I take a deep breath and look at her "How bad is it?”

“It’s as if her memory was erased by… a magic trick or something!" Her lips tremble a little but she continues. "She didn’t know who I was. She didn’t even remember her own name. I have a 34-year-old daughter who didn't know what a TV was, Fox! The doctors say that the good thing is that her… her ability to learn new things is intact; that giving her time, proper care, and support she will be able to be an ‘active part of society again’ as they have put it. But nobody knows how long it might take either. It could be a couple of years or another thirty-four. All they say is that it’s best not to overwhelm her with all the bad things that had happened, to go slowly with all that.”

_"Maybe the distance will be a good thing for us."_ The Scully in my head repeats. Now more than ever she has her wish granted. Maybe there are bad things that come for good reasons, or so they say. If I leave now she and her family can be spared of my Sadim touch.

"I-I'm so sorry to hear about that, Mrs. Scully, but, uh, I really don't know how I can be of any help right now." Shaking my head, I stand up to leave. "We didn't part in a friendly way last time we had seen each other..."

"I do understand that, Fox." She says as she stands to hold my wrist. "And I don't want to pry into your lives, but can't you put this behind you? Dana has always been a very reserved person and there are many blanks in her life that I cannot fill. I sense that you can be helpful with that. Look at this Utah thing I knew nothing about! Plus she needs her friends and there aren't many left since she's joined the FBI."

Suddenly screams can be heard on the floor above us and I start towards the stairs. Mrs. Scully stops me though, with a firm grip on my wrist, telling me that I'd better stay put. Dana doesn't deal well with strangers nowadays, she explains. Stranger. My stomach drops and I reach for the nearest armchair to sit down.

I take a deep breath and a good look around the room. Every flat surface has at least three picture frames, all with smiley faces on them. Past Christmases, family trips, celebrations and babies. The smell of something being baked invades my nostrils. Sobs echo around the house. I start pacing the living room as my chest boils and my mind creates pictures of me maiming the Cigarette Smoking son-of-a-bitch, Krycek, and any other pawn from the Syndicate who could be responsible for this. Isn't it enough what they have taken from her already? 

A door opens on the floor above me and steps approach the stairwell. Then stop. Mrs. Scully's voice reminds her daughter to take deep breaths; he is a friend, she says. And as the thump of their shoes resume to hit each step, I see her legs, then her torso being revealed. Her mother, right behind. I freeze. As her feet touch the ground floor and our eyes meet for the first time, I release a heavy breath and a tight-lipped smile. Scully looks at her mother, who nods once in reassurance.

"It's good to finally meet you, Fox. My mother has talked a lot about you."

"Well, I'll let you two get reacquainted" Scully's eyes grow wide and she clutches her mother's hand. Maggie just looks at her daughter's eyes and I sense there's some kind of communication going on. Scully's nod is almost imperceptible and then her gaze follows the ground to my feet. "I'll be in the kitchen." The older woman says and leaves to attend to her business. 

Scully stays glued to that same spot she had landed, so I gesture for us to sit down and let her take the lead. She chooses to sit on the sofa on the far end of the room, exactly where I was moments ago. I sit in an armchair opposite from her.

"It's Mulder" I blurt it out. At her confused expression, I elaborate. “I make everybody call me Mulder. I don't like my first name… I don't know what my parents were thinking when they named me… maybe that's why I wasn't their favorite child" I chuckle humorlessly.

"You have brothers and sisters, like me."

"A sister. But she disappeared when we were kids one night."

"And you've never heard what happened to her?!"

"Nope."

"I had a sister too, my mother says."

"Yeah! Melissa. I've met her once."

"I wish I could remember her. Mom says we were close and she seemed like a nice person."

"Yes, she seemed to be. Very different from you, though."

"I'm not a nice person? Is that why you took so long to come to visit me?" she asks, alarmed.

"Oh, no! That's not what I meant, I'm sorry. Hmm… Melissa seemed to be more intuitive, wearing her heart on her sleeve."

She frowns. And I remember: semantic memory. I try to explain to her as best as I can what my expression and words mean without sounding condescending. When she gets satisfied with the explanation, she asks about herself, which leads me to explain what practical, rational, down to Earth, and reserved mean.

Mrs. Scully appears, carrying a tray with her. Her eyes are slightly swollen and red-rimmed, but she plasters a smile on her face, announcing she has made Dana's favorite pie. The matriarch hands me a plate with a slice and then one to Scully. My former partner's hand shakes, making the fork clink repeatedly on the plate in an _ accelerando _. She throws everything across the room, startling me and her mother, as we stand up and freeze. Scully's hands go to her temple, elbows on her knees, as she rocks herself back and forth while still sitting down on the couch. She yowls. Her whole body shakes and her mother is by her side, hugging her shoulders, trying to soothe her child.

“SHUT UP! DON’T TOUCH ME!" Scully screams as she moves her mother's hand away from herself. 

Mrs. Scully leaps to her feet, racing breath and wide eyes staring alternately at me and her daughter, whose shaking worsens, breathing becomes erratic, and tears flow down her face. I ask the matriarch to bring a glass of water and she rushes to the kitchen. I sit on the coffee table across from Scully and start talking to her in a soothing voice.

"It's ok, focus on your breath.” She closes her eyes and follows my suggestion. “I know it feels terrible now, but it's gonna get better. You are safe. You are gonna get through it and I'm here with you. Just focus on long, deep breaths." 

Mrs. Scully comes back. She hands me the glass of water and I offer it to Scully. She accepts it with a slightly shaky hand, spilling some of the liquid on the carpet. She takes small sips and starts to calm down. I help her settle the glass on the coffee table and remind her to keep taking deep breaths. She extends her hands toward me and I take them in mine, caressing them with my thumbs. She looks at me for a brief moment and then her eyes find the floor, tears still streaming down her face.

"I’m… so sorry.” Scully says as she starts to lean backward on the couch. “I'm so tired…"

"You don’t need to apologize. Lie down, you'll feel more comfortable." As she does that, eyes closed and dead to the world, my fingers automatically brush her cheeks as I tuck some strands of hair behind her ears. As I remember I am not alone in the room, my eyes search for Mrs. Scully and I feel my cheeks and ears burning. They must show a nice tint of red. I inform her that I should leave and she envelops me in a hug.

"You are so good to her. Thank you."

I say goodbye and dart out of their home. Time to make that visit to Casey's Bar.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dear readers! Thank you for your kudos, bookmarks, and subscriptions they help feed the muse. Your comments are much appreciated as they make this writing experience even more interesting.
> 
> I have never noticed if the gunmen have bunk beds or not, and I have never watched their spin-off show, so just bear with my imagination. I also have no idea how psychologists or speech therapists would proceed with such a case of amnesia, so just bear with me and some creative license because Google was not that helpful to me.

**Chapter 5**

I wake up, and a sharp pain hits my head as it meets the ceiling. With a string of cursing, my mind tries to understand what is happening, as I rub the sore spot. After some rustling of sheets and some inspection of my surroundings, I realize I'm on the top part of a bunker bed, which I have no recollection of getting at.

"Look who's decided to honor us with his presence!" says Langly, approaching the room with his two other friends.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," Frohike mocks.

"What am I doing here?" I cringe, and I’m not sure if it’s because of the lights or the disgusting taste in my mouth. Maybe both.

"You don't remember calling us around three in the morning slurring nonsense about Agent Scully, and some offer Byers did?"

I turn my head at Byers. He blushes then starts rummaging around one of the drawers. I must have made my panic-face because Frohike assures me that our friend didn't spill anything. Realizing that he would not get anything about the said offer from me, the shortest man leaves the room.

"What time is it?" I ask.

"It's almost eleven. Why? Do you need to be anywhere else?" Langly asks.

"I feel like I should, but I'm not sure."

"You don't remember where you are supposed to be right now?" Byers asks as he approaches me and hands me a couple of aspirins.

"That's not the problem. I don't have any appointments right now, but something happened to Scully, and I feel like I should be with her even though she had asked for some distance between us."

"Then go be with her. Salt Lake City is just three hours away by airplane," says Frohike, who is back with a cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal and milk.

I take the aspirins and gulp some of the cereal as I tell them about Scully’s current condition. Jaws drop-down and silence fills the room. Then questions arise, and I tell them all I learned yesterday.

"Wow! They really upgraded their game." Byers exclaims. "A few years ago, they erased a couple of hours from your mind, right? Now they can erase everything! I wonder how they do it… Imagine if they manage to inflict that to large groups of people. That could be the end of the world as we know it!"

"And the beginning of colonization. People wouldn't be able to fight against it even if they wanted it to." I connect the dots, but it does not seem as crucial as Scully’s well-being.

"I guess we've got to update our contingency plan and do some hacking about this project." Langly declared.

"You guys do that. I’ll see if I can remove some cobwebs from my psychology degree and do some research about the memory before checking on Scully again. Is my car at Casey's?”

Frohike removes something from his pocket and dangles it to my face: my car keys. When I try to get it, he snatches them. "You are not going anywhere like this, Don Juan. You stink. Do Agent Scully, and all of us a favor: take a shower!

  
  
  
  
  


My time at the library resulted in many borrowed books about the brain and memory. I leave them all in the trunk of my car as I approach her mother’s place. Mrs. Scully greets me at the door.

“Fox! What a wonderful surprise! Are you here to see Dana?” She asks. With my affirmative answer, she continues. “Oh, that’s great! I didn’t know what to do, but maybe you can help me out here. I need to run some errands, but Dana doesn’t stay alone and hasn’t left the house since she arrived from the hospital...”

“That’s ok, Mrs. Scully. I can stay here with her.” It’s the least I can do.

“Thank you very much! Usually, Mrs. Warren, one of our neighbors, stays with her, but I can’t get ahold of her. It’ll be an hour, tops.”

“No problem. Go!”

“Let me just tell Dana about it. Come on in.” We go to the same room as yesterday and find Scully sitting on the couch. As she sees us, she hides the book she was reading behind one of the couch cushions. “Dana, honey, look who’s here again to see you. I’ll take the opportunity to run some errands while Fox is here. I’ll be back very soon, ok?” With her eyes downcast and a shade of pink on her cheeks, Scully nods at her mom.

We are left alone and, once again, I sit on one of the armchairs, opposite her. She still does not meet my eyes.

“Mom said I should… I should… I-I’m sorry about yesterday.”

“That’s ok. You’ve got a lot going on right now."

"It's not ok!" She exclaims and finally looks at me, chin quivering. The tears had been flowing down her face from some time now. “None of this is ok!” She sobs.

I take a deep pained breath and close my eyes. I still can’t believe what Scully’s connection to me has brought upon her. 

“You are right.” I grimace. “None of this is ok. I’m sorry. I meant that you are forgiven, and you should give yourself a break, you know?” She shakes her head in confusion. “You are going through something very difficult, so you should go easy on yourself.”

“You sound like Karen.” She scoffs, using her hands to dry the tears on her cheeks, finally looking at me. “She is my… my…” More tears. “She is my… doctor of feelings? What’s the word?!” She grunts and rubs her forehead.

“Counselor?”

“Yes! Counselor.”

“Maybe that’s because we have that in common. I’m a psychologist. A ‘doctor of feelings’ as well.”

“I thought you were like… police. Like me?’

“We are! We are FBI agents. The Federal Bureau of Investigation gets people from many areas and trains them to solve crimes. I came from psychology, and you were a pathologist. A doctor for dead people.”

“If the people are dead, why would they need a doctor?!”

“To find out why they died.” I chuckle. “So that’s what you did. You focused on the victims; I focused on the bad guys’ feelings, then we put together our investigating skills and BAM: crime solved. And they did not send us easy cases. No, no! We always got the more difficult ones, the weird ones. That was our specialty, and we were great together! Even though you thought that you held me back, that was not true. Even though we had different views on things, you always listened to me and always respected me. You were the ‘yin to my yang’… you completed me.”

She inquires about the Chinese symbol, so I ask her for some pen and paper. She offers me a small brown notebook she had been keeping near her, and shows me what page I can draw. On the right side of the pages, on the back cover, there is a holder with a small ballpen. I use them to make my best attempt at the ancient symbol. 

“Here.” I extend the objects back to her.

“So, what’s the story of this?” She asks.

“It’s from a faraway place called China. Its translation to English means ‘dark-bright’. It shows how two things, which seem to be opposites, may complement one another. And through this interconnection and interdependence, they may strengthen each other.”

“That’s nice! I like it.”

“It’s one way of thinking. There are others as well.”

“It’s still nice. Can you write that for me, please?” She extends the notebook back to me, and I comply.

“So, what were you reading?” I ask as I write in her notebook.

“Huh?” She feigns to not understanding my question.  
  
“You were reading something when I got here.”

“It’s just a book that Natalie assigned to me. She is my… she is helping me with these... blanks.”

“A speech therapist?” With her nod, I continue. “Is this notebook a suggestion from her?” 

“Yes. It’s to write things I think it’s important. Anything I like, anything I learn about myself or the world.”

“So… that book. What is it about?”

“George Washington. Natalie’s homework.”

“Nice! So what do you think of the book so far?”

“I was just about to start it. I was waiting for a… quiet time to start it.”

“May I see it?”

She hesitates for a moment. Then she takes a deep breath and grabs the book from the cushions, handing it to me, avoidant eyes. It’s a children’s book. I feel the back of my throat tighten. Why haven’t I stopped her from leaving my place on “That Night”? Maybe if she wasn’t so upset when she left, she could have avoided being kidnapped... 

“So, you have to read it, right?” I enquire, trying to distract my mind from all the what-ifs.

With her affirmative answer, I ask her to read it to me. Her right eyebrow goes up as if we had been in our basement office, and I had just suggested that a spaceship had just landed on the National Mall. I can’t help but smile at this first glimpse at the “Old Scully” on this person next to me. She starts reading it, but as she turns to the next page, I joke.

“Hey! Why are you the only one who can appreciate the illustrations?” That makes her give me one of those rare Old Scully smiles and then shows the book to me. But I’m far, and it’s hard to see the details. So I ask her if it’s ok for me to move to the couch as well. She agrees with it and continues with her reading, only to forget to show me the illustrations again.

“You did it again!” I chuckle. She giggles through her apology and scooches closer to me. Our arms touch. She continues. I don’t know why, but I decide that it will be fun if I start to tug the book closer to take a better look at the pictures.

“I need to read it.” She giggles.

“And I need to see the pictures!” I tease.

Bad move, Mulder. She moves even closer, one arm behind my shoulders, the other holding the book between us. Being practical like the Old Scully, but forgetting personal space. I am suddenly hyper-aware of one of her soft breasts being squashed against my arm. My heart races. I freeze and hope she doesn’t notice it. The smell of her hair and her proximity takes over my senses. I can hear her voice, and that’s what tells me she resumed reading the book, but all I can think is of That Night. Some tingling down south ensues. Oh, fuck, not now! Think of something else! What was that book about anyway… yes, George Washington! Think of George Washington! White wig! Was it a white wig or his real hair? It doesn’t matter; it’s working. Monument… President’s Day… Mount Vernon… and the book is over. Her arm leaves my shoulder, but we are still very close.

“So, uh… did you like the book?” I clear my throat and change my sitting position on the couch, crossing my legs.

“It’s fine. Now I know why the place where I live is called Washington. I guess that was the… the… what Natalie wanted.”

“If you want to, we could maybe visit the Washington Monument and Mount Vernon,” I suggest, and she panics. “It doesn’t have to be today. We can go whenever you are ready.”

She just nods emphatically, eyes downcast. That’s when Mrs. Scully comes back. Scully, once again, hides the book behind the cushions, and I put some distance between us. Her mother greets us, thanks me for staying, and kisses Scully’s head. My partner takes her mother’s hand, affectionately, and smiles.

“Everything ok over here?” asks the matriarch. 

“Yes, Mulder was talking about how well we worked together.”

“Oh!” Mrs. Scully fiddles with her necklace and flashes a glance at me. I reassure her that we only reminisced about the “good old days,” which puts her at ease, jewelry forgotten. “Good, because Dana knows that she needs to go slowly for now, as she is still recovering from her ordeal. We do not want to overwhelm her with years of experience in one day. Doctor’s orders.”

“Of course, Mrs. Scully.” I nod in understanding.

She enquires about staying for dinner, but I decline, saying that I need to get going. Pleasantries are exchanged, and when I stand to leave, Scully holds my wrist. A slight caress with her thumb, her eyes lock on mine. She thanks me and holds our gaze as if some secret message could be delivered telepathically to me through our eyes. What it is exactly I don’t know, but I must be blushing, and once again hoping that Mrs. Scully doesn’t notice. Thankfully she is not around anymore. With a nod and a gentle hand squeeze, I say goodbye.

Lots of books await me.


End file.
